


The Composer's Last Symphony, Gunmetal, and The Price We Pay

by drowninginchamomiletea



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Crushes, Implied Transphobia, Nonbinary Shirogane Naoto, Suicide, Suicide Notes, Trans, Transphobia, but I'm not tagging it as such because literally all that happens is confessions, kannao kind of, pining kind of, this is about would-be kannao, transgender suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 07:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18441584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowninginchamomiletea/pseuds/drowninginchamomiletea
Summary: yum angst





	1. The Composer's Last Symphony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The note.

_Composure, as defined in the Random House Dictionary, Unabridged Second Edition:_

> **com·po·sure** (kəm pō❜zhər), _n._  serene, self-controlled state of mind; calmness; tranquility: _Despite the hysteria and panic around him, he retained his composure._  [1590-1600; compose + -ure]
> 
> **—Syn.** equability, serenity, quiet, coolness, equanimity, self-possession. **—Ant.** agitation.    

 

Naoto always maintained their composure. Never did it break or slip. It sometimes made others uncomfortable, even.

 

_I suppose I’ve finally lost my grip on it. Fitting, indeed, that it occurs at just this right time, in a transition in my life where bonds will be cut anyhow... Ah, high school graduation. Such an infamously conflicting time._

 

They were famous for it. Their friends had always joked over it, but of course, they didn’t mind it all that much. It was a trait that they had had since childhood. It was armor, yes, and it kept up a professional exterior.

 

_That has ample room to be misunderstood. I do not by any means feel a desire to break from the people here. Or, I should say, the people everywhere whom I care for. Although, yes, it is just Grampa and Yakushiji outside of Inaba._

 

It hadn’t helped a whole lot in the police force, though.

Nothing had helped in the police force.

Nothing stopped them from throwing up every night after coming back to the apartment after work.

Nothing stopped the panic.

Nothing stopped the oppression.

Nothing stopped the death wishes.

 

_No one has ever threatened me. Not here. Although I have, of course, had difficulty settling in and finding myself a place socially, especially what with the fact of my gender. That has caused me a considerable level of distress._

 

They couldn’t tell the people they loved how they had been oppressed at work, how they had been pushed to the point of silent panic attacks that drove them to physical sickness, how they constantly wished death upon themself. They didn’t want to cause upset or strife, especially if they wouldn’t be able to mediate.

 

_I do not wish to cause any ~~disruption~~ baseless theorizing or pointing of fingers. _

 

They were running out of words, for once. It felt silly and clichéd to call out specific people, but there was someone they felt deserved answers.

 

_Included is a folded note intended only for Tatsumi-kun._

 

_Thank you._

_You’ve done so much more than you needed to._

_You’ve been so good to me._

_You deserve to know the truths withheld in this letter._

_I know I can trust you to follow through when I ask that you share this only with your mother, and that no one else reads it._

_Please do **NOT** feel at fault. As I made a point of in the main letter, there is no room for blame, as it is no one’s responsibility but mine. Only I have the right to choose what to do with my life. I saw fit to follow this path, so this path was what I chose. _

_On from that..._

_It struck me in a weak place when you asked why I’ve been so pale and ill-looking lately._

_Every day when I return from work, I immediately rush to the bathroom for a vomiting fit. I experience silent panic attacks at the police station on a regular basis. I am oppressed._

_Kanji, I am once again not who you believe me to be._

_My Shadow did not lie. However, it failed to speak the truth._

_I am not female. I am not male. I am somewhere in between; not a she, not a he, but a they._

_I lived this existence of already being shunned because of my strange experience with gender, while beneath everything, no one even knew what was truly happening._

_Every day. Oppression. Panic. Nausea. Repeat._

_It kept repeating, until a new step came into the cycle._

_Oppression._

_Panic._

_Nausea._

_Wishing death upon myself._

_Repeat._

_Tonight, the cycle stops._

_I know I cannot simply leave Inaba. I cannot leave, because you are here. I cannot abandon my work simply to stay here, but I cannot bear to abandon you, nor the others._

_Somehow, at this last hour, I only care about you._

_I want you to live knowing that I am happier, that I am where I have always known I would end up. I always knew I would go there before nature could take its course with me. That is simply one of the side effects of my line of work. I see no reason anymore to let it happen on its own. I have made the executive decision to do it by my own hand. I’ll finally be with my parents again. You are aware that I am not especially drawn to be religious, I know. However, I do believe that the gods will rest me with my dear mamma and pappa. I cannot wait to see them again and tell them of all my achievements._

~~_I love you._ ~~

_~~I can’t~~ ~~I strug~~ ~~I h~~ _

~~_I need to tell you something. One last thing before th_ ~~

_I’ll just text you._

 

NS: I LOVE YOU.

KT: You

KT: You what?

KT: Naoto?

KT: What’s going on?

KT: Naoto?? Where are you?

 

They looked at their phone and sighed.

 

NS: MY APARTMENT.

 

They paused.

 

NS: PLEASE COME.

KT: already walking there

 

Somehow, they felt as though they wanted him to be there. They wanted to see him one last time.

They snapped shut their phone and set it down to the left of the perfect stack of papers on their desk. At the top of the papers sat the pen, perfectly lined up to be parallel to the edge. To the right, their handgun laid waiting, neatly placed to tie together the whole scene to be visually pleasing, perfectly organized, safe, predictable.

Everything was ready. The main note simply needed to be finished. They slid the note for Kanji back underneath the main paper—but not before carefully folding it in half—and wrote,

 

_Please do not miss me. I was never meant to live this life to its completion._

_You are what taught me who I am, and I am forever grateful to have been given that gift before I left. Thank you._

 

_All the best, and wishing you all long, happy, prosperous lives._

 

_Naoto Shirogane_

 

_Postscript. I would like for Tatsumi-kun to have my cap._

 

They paused and their hand shook violently for a moment before they were able to regain control to write their final word.

 

_Goodbye._

 

It was done. That was it.


	2. Gunmetal

Everything was surreal, hazy. A slight dizziness overtook them as they clicked closed the pen and lined it up in its place at the top of the paper. Their chest felt congested, their stomach hollow as they stood and pushed in the chair. Their fingers brushed over the gun, feeling all its mechanisms and contours. 

They picked up the weapon and numbly turned it over in their hands. The familiar grip, the barrel, the smooth underside that rubbed against their finger as it slid to the trigger. They gently worried their fingertip up and down the trigger, knowing the danger while also trusting their own experience and skill. 

They gingerly cozied it into their hip holster. They rarely wore this holster, as it was so visible; it was more the equipment of a police officer than a detective. But this time, that didn’t matter. They simply adjusted it so that the gun sat behind their hips, where it was hidden.

They removed their beloved hat for the final time, setting it in the empty space left by the pistol. 

_ Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock. _

Kanji.

Naoto looked to the open office door for a moment before they started moving.

_ KNOCKNOCKNOCKNOCKNOCKNOCKNOCKNOCKNOCKNOCK!! _

_ Kanji. _

They walked numbly to the door. They unlocked it, distantly hearing the loud  _ CLACK  _ of the deadbolt sliding back into the door. Their hand gripped the handle and turned it. Before they could even fully open the door, Kanji burst in, almost bowling the smaller person over. 

Naoto, their numb dizziness making it difficult to regain their balance, nearly fell. And they  _ would  _ have fallen, if not for Kanji’s arms swiftly catching them. 

As soon as they felt Kanji’s strong, yet impossibly ginger grip awkwardly cradling them, Naoto’s body seemed to stop working. 

“N-Naoto?!” Kanji cried frantically, noticing the detective's lack of movement. 

“N-nothing. I am—” They were definitely not alright, and they knew that was obvious. “...please place me on the sofa.”

He did so, and after hesitating uncomfortably, sat in the recliner across the coffee table from the sofa. Naoto struggled up to a sitting position. 

They couldn't bear to meet the other teen’s eyes. 

Kanji stared dumbly at the top of Naoto's head.

_ She's not wearing her hat,  _ he noticed. 

Naoto suddenly felt a surge of... Not courage. Just... Hibition. 

“I love you.” 

They heard a deep, sharp intake of breath. It was a mistake. The words were a mistake. The part of the plan that involved...  _ Him...  _ Was a mistake. 

They themself were a mistake.

It was all a mistake. 

They put a hand on their gun and drew it out to hold on their lap. They stared at it blindly. 

“I love you,” they repeated softly. “And I was never able to say it until there was no time left.”

Kanji's frantic mind took a few moments to fully parse through that sentence.

“W-wait, no time?! Whadd’ya mean, it's— how’s there no more time?” 

Naoto gripped the gun in their right hand. It was time. They were finally ready. Everything had been said, everything done. There was just one more thing.

“Kanji.”

“Yeah...?” 

They gritted their teeth in pain, determination, anger, readiness, they didn't know what. 

“Kanji... Hold me.” The words flowed—or rather, didn't—like cold molasses through their teeth. “Hug me.”

Kanji stood uncertainly. Naoto tried and failed to use their legs. They were weak, now that the time had come.

They felt the cushions sink deep beside them as the much larger boy sat next to them. Cautious, gentle arms encircled their comparatively tiny frame, which involuntarily leaned into the touch.

For the first time in that last day, tears finally appeared on the child's cheeks.

“I'm so sorry, Kanji. I'm so, so sorry. I never meant for—... I never imagined it would happen like this.” Their voice had reached a broken whisper. “Just promise me... Promise you'll never stop loving the world, okay?” They sucked in a tiny breath, violently suppressing a sob. “I love you.”

Kanji couldn't take it anymore.

“Naoto, I love you t—”

**_BANG._ **

 

.

 

..

 

...

 

....

 

.....

 

He couldn't hear anything.

 

......

 

.......

 

........

 

.........

 

His head was spinning.

 

..........

 

...........

 

............

 

Was Naoto okay?

 

.............

 

..............

 

Of course Naoto was okay. Naoto was always okay.

 

...............

 

Always.

  
  
  
  


_ Always. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The world swam around him.

 

Naoto? You ‘kay? he asked into the fog. His ears were ringing loudly enough to deafen him, he was sure. 

 

His consciousness slowly returned, and he became aware again of the small detective in his arms.

 

She wasn't moving.

 

Or speaking.

 

She wasn't 

 

even 

 

breathing. 

 

He shouted at the top of his lungs. 

 

He saw the blood. He saw the gun. He saw the perfect face, peaceful and composed as always, and the dark hair, mussed as though the cap had just come off, lolling on a limp neck. He felt the delicate limbs hanging like a doll’s. He saw the dextrous, lightly calloused hands dangling grossly from dead wrists.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

The word banged around in his skull, consuming him. 


End file.
